


Read Between the Lines

by AngryPirateHusbands



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drunken Kissing, Everyone Is Gay, Feelings, Injury Recovery, M/M, Reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8321542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/AngryPirateHusbands
Summary: After the events of Charlestown, Silver quickly finds himself spending the majority of his time reading within the captain's cabin. Flint eventually shares his fondness for books by making a suggestion for his next read, The Odyssey.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Craftnarok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craftnarok/pseuds/Craftnarok) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



Silver soon found himself spending the majority of his time within the captain's cabin. With the recent loss of his leg, Flint had reasoned it impossible for him to sleep below deck with the rest of the men. The way the canvas of the hammock would hug the fresh amputation would be unbearably painful. Not to mention the way he clumsily stumbled around on the new crutch would quickly wake anyone nearby. As a result he now slept in a makeshift bed upon the cabin's large window seat. Despite the thin sheet and slightly lumpy pillow, the set-up was surprisingly comfortable, and Silver found himself grateful for Flint's apparent thoughtfulness.

While Flint had initially extended this offer for the time it took his mangled stump to heal, the days continued to trickle by. And soon those days gave way to weeks. While sleeping in the hammock below deck would still prove painful, Silver was sure that he could manage it. Yet Flint never so much as hinted at the desire for him to leave. Instead he acted as though he hardly even noticed his constant presence. Granted, at first this was due to Silver being, well, unconscious. It had taken him days to reach the point where he could remain conscious for more than an hour before blacking back out. Either from pain, blood loss, or a developing infection. Perhaps it was due to a combination of all three.

Once Silver had regained his lucidity he became overly cautious about his behavior. Doctor Howell had filled him in on the events of Charlestown during his many visits to freshen the bandages and tend to his leg. Flint had lost Mrs. Barlow, a woman of such significance to him that some actually thought her to be a witch controlling his every move. While Flint never spoke of it he could see the way her death wore heavily on him. That blank mask of his may fool the rest of the crew, but Silver could see past it, if only just. The man was broken. A boat without a tether; one that would eventually become lost at sea. And so Silver remained on his best behavior. He gave the man as much privacy as he could while being just a few feet from him at any given point. He ceased his quippy remarks and saved any inquiries about their plans and course for Billy or Doctor Howell. He was careful not to do anything that would disrupt the quell of emotions that teetered just beneath the surface.

Despite Silver's naturally mischievous behavior, this proved to be surprisingly easy to do. After all he was struggling to cope with his own loss. The man was keenly aware of the void the loss of his leg had caused. Not just physically, either. Without his leg a part of him felt as though he had lost everything. He was now more vulnerable than he had ever been. He needed assistance with even the most menial tasks, if only due to the pain. He couldn't stand on his own. He couldn't walk, he couldn't run, he couldn't _leave_. When his leg was severed so too was his freedom. Silver found himself tied to these men now. They needed him just as much as he needed them. Without his position as quartermaster he was nothing but an invalid.

As a result his own temperament had changed. Silver rarely found himself in the mood for provoking Flint for the sake of his own amusement. Instead he focused on trying to keep his pain at bay without having to rely on the opium. He had lied to Flint once more, hopefully this would be his last lie, that the watchman had been the one to foil their recovery of the Urca gold. He had secured his place among this crew for at least a while longer, and there was no way he would risk the opium loosening his lips. Not when that gap between he and the captain had finally began to abridge.

Silver had never been a person that was overly comfortable with silence. All it served to do was strengthen his awareness of any tension or discomfort. He surmised that was why he talked so much. But now, so as to not agitate the man whose room he so enjoyed, he occupied his mind with reading. He had been told the first day with this crew that the captain enjoyed his books and they had not exaggerated. Flint had possessed quite the impressive collection of fiction and factual texts, and after their capture of the Spanish Man O' War that collection had more than doubled.

Silver let the cover of his most recent read fall closed and set it aside, a soft sigh leaving his lips. His hand moved down to rub his leg as he glanced over at Flint. The man was bent over his desk, overlooking their current course no doubt. Silver moved carefully to swing his legs over the edge of the window seat and reached for the crutch Howell had fashioned for him. He hobbled over to the bookshelf and took care to return the volume to its proper place. Initially, Silver had thought it a good idea to place all the books he had finished to the far left side. He found himself going through about a book a day and had wanted a method to keep track of which ones he had finished.

Truly, he should have known better. Flint was, with no surprise, very particular about keeping his quarters organized and his bookcase was no exception. When he discovered what he had done he looked like he had just found out that _he_ had actually sold the gold's location. For a moment he had wondered if he was about to be thrown overboard. Instead he was ordered to put it back the way it was, in alphabetical order and by the author's last name. It was not a mistake he would likely make again, as the task had been a long and excruciatingly boring one.

Silver leaned on the crutch as his eyes moved over the spines of the vast book collection, looking for one that appeared interesting. _Don't judge a book by its cover_ was an adage he had never abided by. When he finally found one that piqued his interest he plucked it from the shelf. " _Meditations..._ " He read the title quietly and immediately heard Flint set something down on the desk behind him. He had just lifted the cover when that gruff voice interrupted him.

"Put it back." Silver paused at the tone and looked over at Flint curiously. The man was casting him a hard stare. One that was not necessarily angry, but stern, and beneath it he could see the exhaustion that weighed heavily in those depths. Yet when those green eyes shifted to the opened cover his face contorted into that familiar scowl. " _Put it back,_ " he repeated. Silver recognized the tone as one of a final warning and so he did as he was told. He returned the volume before he could so much as glance down at the inscription within and grabbed a random one to take its place. However, it wasn't until he had gimped back to his seat that he no longer felt Flint's eyes digging like daggers into his back. The tension that had filled the air was stiffening. Silver continued to watch the man even as he sat down with the book open on his lap. Eventually Flint must have sensed his ongoing confusion for he finally spoke, answering his silent question. "That book is very important to me.." He explained, his voice low. "It was Miranda's favorite; I don't want anyone disturbing it."

At his words Silver managed a slow nod. He supposed he could understand that. If that book was the last token he had to remind himself of Mrs. Barlow, it was reasonable for him to be weary of anyone touching it. However, it would be many more months before he truly understood the importance that volume held. And even longer before Flint would open the front cover to share that delicate inscription within it. But for now Silver was satisfied and so he returned his attention to ink-scrawled pages.

The next night mirrored the ones before it with John reading by the window and Flint hunched over his desk doing gods know what. "Not any good?"

The quartermaster glanced up as Flint's words pulled him from his thoughts, just as they always did. "Sorry?"

"You're sighing quite a bit. I assume you're not happy with that particular book."

_Oh._

"Not particularly," Silver admitted with a slight smirk. When he heard the scrape of a chair against the floor his eyes flicked back up to see Flint going to look over his bookcase.

"I think I have one you might enjoy.." As Flint spoke his fingertips trailed over the volumes until he had found the one he was referring to. Quickly he plucked it from the shelf and sauntered over with a rather thick leather bound book. " _The Odyssey,_ " he explained as he offered it to him.

Silver didn't miss the way the touch of their fingers lingered when he accepted the book. However he pried his thoughts away from this and instead inspected the text before him. The edges were quite worn from overuse and the spine was practically coming apart. "A personal favorite?" he ventured with an arched brow.

Flint's only answer was a nod. "When you're done," he said after a few moments, his fingers tapping ever so lightly on the cover, "Let me know. Maybe we can discuss it." Silver looked up to inspect the man's face as if searching for a hint of sarcasm. He found none. Instead all he saw was that faint glint in the captain's eyes. The one he had witnessed a few times before but its exact meaning remained a mystery. It was the look he had first seen during his venture to secure his place among the crew with his nightly address, a few days after they had taken the Spanish warship. As he picked himself up off the floor and wiped his bloodied nose he saw Flint giving him that exact stare. One of amusement and perhaps even interest.

Silver quickly realized that Flint was still waiting for an answer and so he nodded. "Of course.." Flint gave a slow, satisfied nod before returning to his place behind his desk.

* * *

It took Silver a few nights to finish _The Odyssey_ , and when he had he simply set it aside. His attention had instead been gripped by his injured leg. Pain coursed through the stump and up into his hip in sharp pulses. Despite his use of the crutch the amputation seemed to become irritated quite quickly. Howell had told him that he was working on fashioning him a prosthetic, an iron peg with a leather "boot" he could strap around his knee and the upper part of his leg. Though he was eager for something a bit less obvious than the crutch, he balked just thinking of the pain it would inevitably cause.

Fingers moved over the tender muscle just above the injury, massaging lightly in hopes of relieving some of the pain. Yet all this succeeded in doing was ripping a hiss from his lips. " _Fuck_ ," Silver swore. Once again he heard the heavy scrape of Flint's chair followed by footsteps. However he paid it no mind, at least not until the man was kneeling down right next to him. He started slightly when Flint reached out to touch the bandages and sucked in a sharp breath. Yet Flint ignored him and began to unwind the linen until cool air kissed the sensitive skin.

"Sorry," Flint muttered. He reached to the table beside them to before offering the man a half bottle of rum. Silver took a generous drink but even so he felt himself bristle at the man's touch. It was light, gentle, and very uncharacteristic of the man he had come to know. Yet here he was, the feared Captain Flint on his knees tending to his injured quartermaster. While he had found himself on his knees for _other_ reasons in the past, this particular moment seemed unusually... intimate.

The minutes passed slowly as Flint took care in cleaning his stump. Already he could feel the effects of the rum. The pain ebbed and he found himself looking down upon Flint with an unguarded gaze. Finally Flint spoke and drew him from his thoughts. "Did you finish it?"

Silver gave the man a curious look."What?"

" _The Odyssey_ , did you finish it?"

Silver couldn't help the chuckle that left his lips. So that's what he wanted it. "Yes, I finished it."

"And..?"

Suddenly Silver felt his mischievous nature creep back into light in the form of a shit-eating grin. "It was too long for my tastes."

Flint's hands stilled on his leg and Silver was sure to tuck that smirk away by the time the man looked up at him. " _Too long?_ " Flint clarified, his eyebrows raised. 

Silver nodded. "The only interesting part is his journey home, yet they fill over half the book with this boring backstory. Besides," he shrugged, "I've never been one for poetry."

"It's an epic," Flint balked.

"Ah, quite," the quartermaster agreed with an amused expression. "Honestly, though... Ten years? I would have just given up and gone elsewhere. There's more than one place to settle down, even back then."

Flint released an unsteady breath as he shook his head. Apparently in an attempt to quell his frustration. In truth Silver had rather enjoyed the book. However, and he wasn't sure if this was from the rum or the strange intimacy Flint was extending, he found himself unable to resist agitating the man. It had been far too long. And so they went on debating late into the night. Silver rather enjoyed his role as devil's advocate as Flint did his best to argue his own reasoning.

It hadn't taken long for Flint to seek comfort away from Silver's apparent thick-headedness. They had taken to sharing the bottle of rum and by the time it was empty, the candles burned low and their arguments became interspersed with drunken laughter. Silver's leg had been bandaged back up though it remained perched on Flint's knee. "So that's where you learned your storytelling," Silver chortled. "Your poetic way of speaking." When Flint gave him a curious look he laughed and clarified with, " _Let me tell you a story about a Spaniard named Vazquez._ " Flint's expression hardened slightly at the mockery. "Billy does quite the impression of you when he's drunk, truly," Silver explained with a wink.

Though Flint only shook his head, a remnant of a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "You're a shit," he murmured gruffly.

"And you think you're Homer!"

"Odysseus," the captain corrected him. This only elicited another bout of laughter.

Silver could feel the heat high in his cheeks and the way that his mind swam. It had been quite a while since he had drank this much. Then again, before now he had never felt comfortable enough to let his guard down so completely. And he was certain Flint hadn't either. The only other time he could recall Flint drinking with someone was with Gates, a man he had trusted deeply. This only worked to prove how much their relationship had evolved, not just since Charlestown, but since the first time he claimed to be an excellent cook. Silver must have been staring for Flint's thumb stroked softly against his knee. "What..?" he asked.

Silver gave a slight shake of his head. However, his eyes remained drawn to the captain's face. Almost as if he were searching for something. The man's features were softened by the rum and the usual worry lines were missing from his forehead. More than that, that glimmer had returned to those normally piercing green eyes. Flint's thumb continued to move over the bandages in light strokes. And then, all too quickly, he felt those fingers move over his cheek. Moments later Flint's mouth dragged against his own and Silver parted his lips almost eagerly. The kiss was commanding yet gentle all at the same time, and Silver realized then how much he had missed the man's touch.

Since Charlestown Flint had begun to widen the distance between them once more. Emotionally, at least. Their trysts had been broken off in some form of unspoken agreement. After all, they each required time to recover from their own individual losses. Flint was grieving the death of Mrs. Barlow and Silver was trying to adjust to life without his leg, and the freedom and independence that went with it. That being said, finding the time to grope and fuck in some closet had been the last thing on their mind.

But now it was if those weeks of quiet separation were immediately forgotten. Their movements gave way to a clumsy mess of teeth, tongue, and panting breaths. Yet just as it began to evolve into something sweeter, Flint withdrew. Silver had begun to chuckle beneath his breath and he gave him a curious look. "Wily Odysseus," Silver quoted _The Odyssey_ with a smirk. Flint gave a vexed shake of his head before silencing the man with another rough kiss.


End file.
